


Kairos

by la_penumbra



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Hatari (Band)
Genre: Celebrity Crush, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, grandparents are in town, klemens is a frantic man who needs her, oc is a graphic designer, that's not a good thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_penumbra/pseuds/la_penumbra
Summary: kairos: (n.) the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for actions, words, or movement.Clara has been living next to Klemens Hannigan of Hatari for almost a year now, but one day he comes banging on her door asking her to act as his girlfriend for the weekend, just for his grandparents' visit.





	1. The Offer

Clara Jones was seated in her living room working on some logo mockups for a client when the knock on the door occurred. She closed her laptop and stood up to open the door, wondering who it could be. Clara didn’t have many friends, and practically no one knew her address, and especially not the floor and apartment number. 

Whoever it was knocked again, almost frantically, before Clara opened the door. She definitely wasn’t expecting to see the man who lived across the hall, Klemens Hannigan. 

“Clara! Thank god,” He exhaled violently. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, “I need your help.”

“What?” Clara said, clearly very confused. He was a pretty famous name, especially after his band, Hatari, performed for Iceland during Eurovision. She had heard of them before she moved to Reykjavik, even liked some of their music, but she wasn’t prepared to discover just how big they actually were in Iceland. And especially not prepared to find out that one of the members was her neighbor. 

“It’s a bit crazy but I,” he took an anticipatory breath, “ineedyoutopretendtobemygirlfriendforacoupledays.”

“Hey, slow down. I can’t understand you,” Clara said, even though she was pretty sure she heard exactly what he said, she just needed a few seconds to process, “Take a couple of deep breaths and try again.”

He stopped and took the recommended breaths. 

“Okay. I know this sounds crazy, and probably really bad, but I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for a couple days.” Klemens bit his lip, and blushed a bit. Clara couldn’t help but think he looked pretty cute, his dirty blond hair sticking in every direction, as if he had been electrocuted or something. 

She shook the idea from her mind. There was a more pressing issue, and it was _very weird._ How often do you get a famous person on your doorstep asking you to pretend date them.

“Why?” Clara said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Well, um,” He stalled, shifting his weight a bit between his feet, “So, you see, I might have, for the past three or four months, been telling my grandparents that I was dating my neighbor, Clara Jones. And now they’ve told me they’re driving into town for the weekend and they want to meet you, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Just tell them you broke up with me,” Clara shrugged. She didn’t want to get involved in this. It was, as Klemens said, _absolutely crazy._

“I can’t just tell them we broke up.”

“Why not?”

“They’re going to ask why. They’re going to come over and knock on your door. And I don’t know, it’s going to be a mess either way,” He was getting worked up again, hands flying in a different direction every few seconds. 

“Okay, deep breaths, um… tell me more. Why did you tell them you had a girlfriend? And why me?” She needed him to keep talking so she could think of a reason to say no, because right now, she wanted nothing more to say yes, and just live out her fantasies for a weekend. It was her well guarded secret that she found Klemens to be hot, and she definitely had a crush on him, but it was a crush in the way someone is attracted to, say, Leonardo DiCaprio or Natalie Portman. That is, it was a full-blown celebrity crush that just so happened to be a thousand times worse given that he lived next door and would always say hello to her in passing.

“Well, they nagging, you know, the way grandparents do. The whole ‘you haven’t dated anyone in years' thing and ‘when are you finally going to settle down?’ and I got tired of it and just told them one day that I had met someone. And I don’t know, I had to think of _someone_ and I had just seen you in the mailroom, and so your name came out and I just fell into the lie and it got out of hand.”

She couldn’t think of any excuses to say no and the offer was practically a dream. Spend a few days pretending to be Klemens Hannigan’s girlfriend. It couldn’t be that hard, and it would probably be amazing. 

“Please, Clara,” Klemens interrupted the silence, pleading at this point, “I can get you tickets to Iceland Airwaves or movie tickets or something? Don’t look at me like that, I’ve heard you listen to at least half of the bands playing this year.”

She turned a bright red. Had he heard her listening to Hatari? Probably not, given that she was too self-conscious to listen to them when he was literally next-door, but he was right. Of Monsters and Men, Seabear, and girl in red were all playing.

“Okay. Deal.”


	2. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: this AU takes place during the Summer of 2020. Both Klemens and Clara are 25. It’s been over a year since Eurovision, and Hatari’s fame has only gone up. It’s around early June in this first bit, but time will clearly progress as the fic goes on.

“Okay, deal,” 

“Oh Clara, thank so much!” Klemens exhaled, “You’re the best.”

“So, um,” Clara started before turning and gesturing into her apartment, “we should sort the details, right? Like when your grandparents are coming, and our story?”

“Right, yes,” he stepped inside her apartment for the first time. Clara was frantically glancing around, ensuring that there wasn’t anything weird left out, not that she really owned anything weird. She was just very anxious about  _ Klemens Hannigan _ being in her home. 

It wasn’t a small apartment by any standards, but wasn’t large either. The door opened to a half-wall in front of which was a shoe rack. The kitchen was against the wall the door was on, to the right, and there was no barrier between cooking and living other than a small table with four chairs (that she never used). There was a couch, a tv, a couple of comfy chairs, and a coffee table, where right now most of her work stuff was spread out. It was a modest home, simple, but clearly decorated by a designer. Clara had chosen a muted lime green as an accent color to the almost entirely white decor, mostly because the apartment’s kitchen came with all the cupboard doors in that color. She initially thought it was horrendous, but then discovered that it could easily work if she played her cards right. 

“That’s a cool wallpaper,” Klemens said, looking around and gesturing to the far wall that had the doors to her bedroom and bathroom. 

“Thanks,” Clara said, somewhat awkwardly but smiling, “I designed it for a project while I was still in university, and I kept some of the final product.”

“Really? What did you study?” He asked.

“Graphic design.”

“Ah, art school. Makes sense.”

“Mhmm,” Clara sounded, not really sure what to say, “Why don’t you sit down.”

She gestured to the chair next to the couch. She would offer the couch, however her laptop and all sorts of magazines, papers, and writing and drawing utensils covered the coffee table in front of it and she didn’t really want to subject him to sitting right in front of the mess.

“Do you want anything to drink?” She asked.

“No, but thank you.” Klemens smiled.

“So, uh, when did you say your grandparents are coming over?” Clara said, sitting down on the couch. 

“Friday.” It was Wednesday, and Clara didn’t realize that this would be happening so soon. “And they’re staying at my place for the weekend.”

“What? Why are they staying with you?”

“My parents are at some United Nations thing for a while, my dad is… he works for the government. They would normally let my grandparents stay at their place, but they don’t really want them there alone. And why would they pay for a hotel when they could just stay at my apartment?”

“Right. So, what am I supposed to do?”

“You should probably be at my apartment at seven. My grandparents are going to arrive around then and we’ll eat and talk.”

“Wait, is this formal? Like should I wear a dress?”

“Not too formal. I’m not planning for anything special,” he gestured at her, “You look fine in what you’re wearing now.”

She looked down at herself. She was wearing high-waisted, khaki cropped pants and a loose, white blouse. “Okay, and then?”

“Then? Then we eat dinner, talk, and then my grandparents go to sleep and you come back here. Then we’ll see when we’ll meet up next.”

“We’ll see? That doesn’t seem very thought out at all!” Clara didn’t like the idea of her whole weekend being an unplanned mess of fake relationships. Even if she didn’t usually work on the weekends, she liked to at least have a schedule.

“It depends on what my grandparents want to do, if they want to go out a bunch, then we’ll go out with them, if they want to visit some people, they might do that on their own. They sort of invited themselves into town.”

Clara took a few deep breaths, before asking, “So, what’s our story? What do they know?”

“Um, not much,” Klemens shrugged.

“How did we meet?”

“Well, we ‘started dating’ four months ago. And they know you’re my neighbor. So we probably ‘met’ earlier.”

“Right. So we met when I moved in, just over a year ago. And we kept running into each other in the hallway?” Clara mused. It was like coming up with the ideal scenario in which things had gone really well and she actually got to date him. For real. 

“Okay, and I asked you out one day, about four months ago.”

“On the 25th of February,” She threw out a date about four months ago. 

“And we went out for coffee.”

“You walked me back to my apartment,” Clara smiled a bit, thinking about both how magical this sounded, but also how silly it was for Klemens to walk her to her home. They lived a couple meters away from each other.

“And I stayed to watch a movie, and then we made dinner together.”

“Oh, how romantic,” Clara said sarcastically and laughed.

“Shut up,” Klemens feigned annoyance, “It’s totally romantic.”

“Okay. Fine. It’s romantic. Afternoon movies and the menace that is two people sharing a kitchen. Totally romantic,” Clara was smiling, probably more than she had in a while. She had plenty of work to do, but it was easy to get distracted by Klemens’ smile, his stupid hair, and the fantasy of planning out the perfect romance. 

It took the better part of an hour, but they finally had their story figured out. 

“Sounds perfect, Clara,” Klemens said, “And I should really be going, I have a rehearsal with my band.”

Clara smiled at that. He was acting like she had no idea what he did. Acting like he wasn’t one of the biggest names in the Icelandic music scene. They got up and walked to the door.

“Okay, so I’ll see you on Friday?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Friday.”


	3. Arrival

To Clara, the few meters between her door and Klemens’ felt like a whole kilometer. Each step closer to his place was more terrifying than she ever could have expected. She looked down at her outfit, hoping the pale pink pants and black tee-shirt worked for the night. 

She looked up at his door, took a deep breath, and knocked. Almost instantly, the door flew open.

“You’re here! Great!” Klemens was right in front of Clara, gesticulating wildly, “My grandmother just called, they’re driving in and they’re ahead of schedule, so they’ll be here in about five minutes.”

“Okay,” Clara nodded, still standing in the doorway, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Klemens glanced behind his back, into the apartment, “Um, nothing I can think of. Dinner’s made, and it’s all set up— Oh, please come in.”

He stepped aside for Clara to walk into the apartment. A small hallway with a closet and a pile of shoes opened up into a large, mostly empty living room and a small balcony. To the right was a kitchen and a dining table, and to the left was another hallway with three doors, which Clara assumed were bedrooms and a bathroom. 

Klemens wandered into the kitchen to work on finishing up whatever he had made for dinner, and Clara took the time to admire the living space. A couch and chairs was pushed to one side, leaving almost half the room as empty, hardwood floors. The wall furthest from the couch had the TV on it, making it appear that whenever the television was used, the viewers were seated on the floor or something. It was unusual, but not entirely out of the ordinary. What she thought was most weird was the lack of personal items. There was nothing on the walls except a couple of abstract paintings, no shelves, no books.

From what little she knew about Klemens, both from interactions with him and from interviews and such, she had assumed he would have a somewhat chaotic apartment, something artistic and creative, probably with an eclectic mix of decor. But that wasn’t the case. It felt almost devoid of any personality. 

“Interested in the couch?” Klemens said, startling Clara out of her thoughts. 

She realized she was just standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the sofa and hadn’t even noticed Klemens walking up next to her. 

“No,” she said, looking over at him, “I was just wondering where everything is.”

“Everything?”

“Photos, books,  _ stuff _ . People’s homes have stuff. That’s what makes them homes,” Clara said, “I mean, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, it just feels a bit, I don’t know…”

“Empty?”

“Yes. Empty.”

“I, uh,” Klemens scratched the back of his neck, clearly a bit uncomfortable, “I usually have a big studio work table here, something where I do my art. It’s kind of ugly and has all these bins underneath and it’s always covered in paint. 

“I figured my grandparents wouldn’t be super fond of it, especially all the chemicals I store there, so I took all the supplies off it then took it apart. It’s all dismantled in my bedroom. I sort of got carried away removing all the art stuff, and I guess I just left the room stripped of anything but the bare minimum.”

Clara was surprised to learn this. Not the stripping the room bit, but the art stuff. She knew he studied furniture construction, and still worked a bit in set design, but she had no idea he was a practicing visual artist of some sort. What else didn’t she know? What if his grandparents realized that she knew so little about him that they couldn’t be dating?

All of this had to wait for a later moment, because they heard a knock on the door. Klemens ran over to open the door and Clara stood awkwardly in the living room, unsure whether or not to immediately go up and introduce herself or not.

“Klemens!” An older female voice said.

“Afi, Amma!” came the response, from Klemens, and then it burst into a steady stream of Icelandic that Clara neither knew nor could keep up with. It would be a long time until she spoke Icelandic, and even longer before she could consider herself fluent. Practically everyone in Reykjavik spoke English. 

Klemens said something, and turned around to gesture at Clara, and she smiled. He walked over with the older couple, and said, “Clara, this is my grandmother, Árný, and my grandfather, Jón.”

She shook their hands, “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“I told them you don’t speak Icelandic, so we’ll speak English tonight,” Klemens said.

“Thanks.”

“So, Klemens tells us you’re a graphic designer?” Árný said. She looked about seventy, but Clara assumed she might be older. 

“Yes, I am. Right now mostly work with companies on logos and advertising, but I do a little bit of everything,” this was comfortable conversation for Clara, “I used to do a lot of book covers, but now I’m trying to move into working on web design and even some work with video game textures.”

“She even makes wallpapers,” Klemens added in before gesturing at the table in the kitchen, “How about you set down your stuff, and we can go eat.”

“Of course, Klemens. And Clara that sounds really impressive. I’m so glad Klemens has some of that creative direction in his life.”

The couple walked down the hall into one of the doors, which Clara now understood to be the spare bedroom, to drop off their bags, leaving Clara confused as to what Árný meant by that. Klemens had a lot of creative direction, right? He was a musician, and a very successful one. She walked with Klemens over to the kitchen and sat down, shooting a confused glance at Klemens, who was looking a bit paler than usual and she couldn’t exactly tell, but he almost looked hurt. 


	4. Dinner

Once everyone was settled down, Klemens brought over a plate of fish and a bowl of steamed vegetables and potatoes to the table. It was a simple meal, but it smelled amazing. The first few minutes of dinner was filled with silence as people began eating.

“Clara,” Jón started, “Klemens tells us you moved here from England? Where from?”

“Oh, uh,” Clara stopped to finish chewing her food, “I did, yes. I grew up in a small village in the Midlands, kind of in the middle of the country.”

“How did you end up here?” Árný asked.

“I went to art school in London and studied graphic design,” Clara said. “I didn’t want to settle down with a company, so I started doing freelance work once I graduated and I discovered I could do that work from anywhere.

“Living in London was too busy for me, and I wanted to explore a new country and be closer to nature and the ocean. One of my friends had just been on a trip here and suggested I move to Reykjavik. I sort of ended up here.”

“How long have you been here?” said Árný.

"About a year, I think?" Clara said, looking over at Klemens, "Actually, it's been 13 months now, it was early May last year." She only remembered that because Hatari was performing at Eurovision a week after she moved. It was pretty insane hearing everyone in the building cheering while they watched in their own apartments. It was even wilder to get a knock on her door a week later from Klemens, during which conversation he apologized for not being there to introduce himself as her neighbor when she moved in. 

“It’s really been that long?” Klemens asked. “I remember it like it was only a few days ago. I was away on a trip and when I returned there was suddenly this amazing English woman on my floor. Took me months to ask you out.”

He was smiling at her so genuinely Clara had to remind herself that it wasn’t real.

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” Árný said before asking pointedly, “And Clara, did you know who Klemens was before moving in?”

Clara could feel her cheeks turn bright red. Purposefully avoiding Klemens’ eyes, she said, “Well, I knew  _ of _ him, but I didn’t  _ know _ him. It took quite a few meetings in the hallways and such to get to know him, and even then, it wasn’t until our first date that I felt like I knew who he was.” 

The first part wasn’t exactly a lie. She did know about Hatari, fairly well actually, and sometimes, when watching interviews and then seeing him in person in the halls, she did feel like she knew him. However, she knew she didn’t  _ really _ know him. Not the way you knew a romantic partner, or even just a friend.

They moved on to chatting about Clara’s recent work, and Jón and Árný’s home, which was located a five hour drive across the island, up in the North. They owned a lot of property and, after discovering Clara’s interest in natural wildlife, talked quite a bit about the different plants they used to grow and all the native species that their grounds now harbored. 

They had finished dinner, and Clara was pretty sure the whole night could be considered a success. While it wasn’t perfect, they seemed to have avoided almost any sort of controversial topic and she was getting along fine with Klemens’ grandparents.

The current topic of conversation topic died down, and Jón changed the subject, saying, “Clara, how do you feel about what Klemens does?” His words were heavy and seemed to suck the energy from the room. 

She glanced over at Klemens who was looking very embarrassed and was staring at his plate of food. He wouldn’t look back at her. She reached out her arm below the table, and placed her hand on top of his. Clara had no idea if he would respond well to this, but thankfully Klemens, still looking away, flipped his hand over to hold hers.

“Well, I think Hatari is an impressive band, and they’re doing incredible things.” Clara felt Klemens adjusting their hands so their fingers intertwined. “I love the music he, Matthías, and Einar make, and their performances are stunning. I couldn’t be prouder of him. And, of course, I can’t forget how amazing all the artistic work he puts into the band is. The design for the music videos? It’s all so beautiful.”

Clara didn’t realize but by the time she was finished, she was beaming. It was easy to say because it wasn’t a lie at all. 

Looking around the table, Jón and Árný both had unreadable expressions on, something between awe and discomfort, and Klemens was looking just as horrified as before, but there was something warm in his eyes as he looked over at Clara, the two smiling at each other.

“Klemens, you do have quite the girl. She’s a special one,” Jón said. The words conflicted with the tone he used, leaving Clara even more confused as to the dynamic between the three family members.

“Oh dear, Klemens, look at the time!” Árný exclaimed, “We really should be getting to sleep, it’s been such a long day with all the driving and such.”

She stood up, rather quickly, as did Jón. They made no motion to give any sort of goodbye hugs, and the two walked away from the table.

“It was very nice meeting you, Clara,” Árný said.

“Yes, and I’m sure we’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jón continued, and the two disappeared behind the wall. A few seconds later, they heard the door to the guest bedroom close shut, leaving Clara and Klemens sitting side by side, alone in the kitchen, holding hands. 

Just as Clara realized that Klemens was gripping her hand much tighter than she realized, like she was his lifeline, he dropped her hand and stood up, gathering together all the plates. He stacked them aggressively, and set them down in the sink. Clara scrambled to stand up and help clear the table.

“Klemens—” Clara began.

“No. I,” Klemens paused, “I’m sorry you had to do that. I thought they’d be...” 

He drifted off, shook his head, and started washing the dishes.

“Hey,” Clara said gently, “Let me. I can’t help put things away since I don’t know where anything goes, but I can at least wash stuff.”

“You don’t have to, you can go home,” Klemens said weakly.

“No. I’m going to help you clean up.”

He slowly handed Clara the sponge he was using and grabbed a dishcloth. 

They spent about fifteen minutes washing dishes in silence. Klemens moved around his own house like it was filled with molasses. He was clearly upset and embarrassed, and Clara knew that her presence was probably only making it worse. 

They finished up and walked towards the door. 

“I’m sorry, Clara, they’re not usually so…” Klemens began, but clearly didn’t know how to finish.

“It’s alright,” Clara said, looking up at him, even though she knew it wasn’t okay for him at all. “It’s not your fault, and you know, grandparents are sometimes the worst. I mean, my grandma didn’t talk to me for five years after I got a tattoo.”

She laughed, hoping it would raise Klemens mood a bit. Looking up, she saw the faintest trace of a grin. She considered that a victory.

“Thank you,” Klemens said, sort of awkwardly, like they were unfamiliar words, “for, you know, um, saying what you said.”

Clara nodded. She understood what he meant and why exactly it was so hard to say. The barrier between them, his fame, was almost unspeakable. It was as if one of them said something, it would instantly collapse their entire, fragile, three-day, sort-of-not-really friendship. 

“Like I said, I have no idea what we’ll be doing tomorrow, but they’ll probably want to go out with us,” Klemens continued, “I’ll let you know.”

“Here,” Clara said, pulling out her phone and tapping on it a few times before holding it out to him, “Why don’t you put in your number so we can text, you don’t have to walk over and get me or anything.”

“Good idea,” Klemens smiled.

Clara knew if this was under any other circumstances, she’d probably be screaming internally, but she was feeling his pain and couldn’t even bring herself to acknowledge the long-standing crush she had. All she could think of was how entirely screwed Klemens would probably be in the eyes of his grandparents if they messed this up.

Klemens handed her back her phone and she sent him a quick text so he would have her number as well. She turned around to open the door. 

“Goodnight,” Clara said.

“See you tomorrow.”


	5. Driving to Breakfast

Clara awoke to her phone buzzing. It was 8:48am, so she couldn’t exactly complain. Leaning over to grab the device, she saw two texts from Klemens.

**Good morning, Clara.**

**My grandparents want to visit Viðey Island today. It’s a short ferry ride away. Could we meet to go to a café with us for breakfast? We’d be back here around 1:00.**

Clara had heard good things about the island, but hadn’t gotten a chance to visit. Wasn’t there not much to do there beyond walk around? Could Klemens’ grandparents handle that? Either way, she send a quick reply, confirming that she’d be there and asking what time they should meet.

She took a quick shower and then threw on a simple turtleneck, black jeans, and a pair of boots before going to her kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Even if they were going to get breakfast at a café, she wasn’t likely to make it out of the building before 10am with at least one caffeinated drink. While waiting for the hot drink she got a response from Klemens saying to meet at 9:15. It was 9:03 so she was feeling comfortable.

She sat at her dining table with her coffee and opened her laptop to check her email. When she began freelancing, she told herself that she would always have the weekends off, and while she never did any actual design work on the weekends, she found herself still communicating with clients and setting up new work at all times.

After responding to a few requests from older clients and turning down an offer from a random man who wanted a book cover for 5 euros and found her email address, she shut the computer, grabbed a jacket (while it was June, it was only about 12 degrees outside) and her purse, and walked out the door, locking it behind her.

Looking down the hallway Clara saw no one, and walked down to the stairwell to wait. A couple minutes later, Klemens’ door opened, and out walked Árný and Jón, chatting quietly in Icelandic. They looked down the hall, and seeing Clara, they waved and started walking towards her.

“Clara, so nice to see you this morning,” Jón said.

“It’s very nice to see you too,” Clara lied, smiling. She had lost most of her respect for the couple by the way they tore down Klemens with just a few words the night before. “Is Klemens coming?”

“Oh, yes,” Árný said, “He’s running a bit late, had to answer a call, something about his… band. Told us to come out and make sure you weren’t waiting alone.”

“Oh,” Clara said, “Thank you, then. You know, Klemens never told me exactly why you were in town. Why did you make the 5 hour drive if his parents aren’t even in town?”

“Do we need an excuse to visit our grandchild?” Árný said sweetly.

“Don’t mind her,” Jón laughed, “Every time we visit Klemens is always out of town or too busy or something, and well, he’s been telling us all about you, every time we call he just gushes, and we thought, we should visit, not just to see Klemens, but to meet this Clara. And it ended up that we were available this week, even though Nikulás and Rán were out of town.”

Clara took a moment to remember that Nikulás and Rán were Klemens’ parents. There was a bang down the hallway, and they looked down to see Klemens, having just slammed the door shut and locking it, jogging down the hallway.

“Good morning, Clara,” Klemens stooped right next to her, smiling, and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

Clara’s eyes widened as she started up at Klemens, confused and flustered. “Good morning?”

He mouthed ‘sorry’ to her, a grin still plastered to his face.

“Ready? We’re going to that one place down by the docks, so we don’t have to drive around twice.”

Clara knew exactly which café he was talking about. She used to go there a lot when she first moved to Reykjavik, but after a while she realized that going out for breakfast a few times a week got pretty expensive, even when it was a better location for work than spending all day in her home.

They made it down to the parking lot and over to Klemens’ car. Clara inhaled. Even after a day she was getting used to being around Klemens without freaking out over every little thing. It was easier to forget that he was a public figure and not just ‘Klemens the next-door neighbor,’ but right then, the only thing in her mind was that she was getting into Klemens Hannigan’s car.

Jón and Árný took the backseat, leaving Clara in the passenger seat, alongside Klemens. As they began the short drive, the older couple lapses into loud conversation in Icelandic, and Klemens was clearly not interested. Clara looked over at him.

“What are they talking about?” Clara said quietly, leaning over as to ensure the others couldn’t hear.

“How long it’s been since they’ve been in Reykjavik. My cousins. They’re clarifying what my cousins are doing with their lives,” He said, translating.

“Oh.”

“It’s kind of pointed.”

“I figured. What is it about them and your work?”

“I’ll explain later when they’re not right here,” He frowned. “It’s not terrible, just not super supportive.”

“Yeah, not supportive,” Clara said a bit sarcastically, “That’s an understatement.”

“It’s not really your business,” Klemens said, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.

Clara leaned back and they continued the rest of the drive in silence.

Upon arrival at the cafe, Clara was the first out of the car, and she talked almost exclusively with Klemens grandparents while they waited for their food. He sat next to her, but there was plenty of space between their legs. Clara accidentally brushed their ankles together, and he quickly pulled his leg away from her, leaving Clara more frustrated.

“So, how did you two learn such good English?” She asked Árný and Jón.

“We used to travel a lot. English education wasn’t as good in Iceland when we were growing up as it is now, but we did our best, traveled around Europe when we were young” Jón said, “We actually lived in London for a year, back when I was working for a bank. We already knew the language, but that allowed us to become fluent and really know the flow of things.”

“That’s good,” Clara smiled, “And if it weren’t for your slight accents, I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me you lived in England.”

“Thank you, Clara,” Jón replied, “that means a lot.”

At the very least, Clara was pretty sure she was getting the hang of faking a relationship. It wasn’t as much pretending to be affectionate with Klemens, because only so much would be shown to grandparents anyways, it was the conversation that really sold it. Of course, it helped that she was a people person, and about 30% of her jobs was talking with people and providing solutions that would please her clients. She was essentially doing the same thing for Klemens. He had basically hired her to help him design a relationship, and that thought hurt quite a bit, which was why she didn’t feel as bad about excluding Klemens from the conversation.

The food came, they ate, talked a bit more, and were walking out of the place a little after 10:00, just enough time to walk over to the dock, buy tickets, and board the 10:15 ferry.

“We’re going to sit here inside,” Árný told Klemens and Clara, “but you two should go upstairs. It’s much more fun from the top deck, we just aren’t big fans of the strong wind, and Jón gets seasick a lot easier now than when he was younger.”

“Are you sure?” Klemens said, “We can sit with you.”

“No, it’s really no problem. It’s a ten minute ride,” Árný said.

“Really, you two lovebirds go and enjoy it,” Jón added, making both Klemens and Clara blush profusely. “Clara was telling us that she’s never actually been, so take her up.”

“Okay, okay,” Klemens said, before grabbing Clara’s hand, shocking her a bit. “Come on, it’s really quite a nice ferry ride.”

They walked together up the stairs, right outside and into the harbor wind. Although Klemens dropped Clara’s hand as soon as they were out of sight of his grandparents, they still walked side by side to the edge of the boat and leaned against the railing.

“So you haven’t been to Viðey?” Klemens asked.

“No, I haven’t gotten the chance.”

“I’m glad I could take you.”

“Yeah.”

It all felt really flat. They were avoiding a needed conversation, and neither wanted to be the one to start it.

The ferry began moving and the wind whipped around them. Clara watched as the dock moved further away, and Reykjavik got a bit smaller. She looked over at Klemens who she realized had been staring at her, but upon getting caught, sharply glanced away.

“So, uh,” Clara started, “Do you want to tell me about your grandparents?”


	6. Viðey Ferry

“So, uh,” Clara started, “Do you want to tell me about your grandparents?”

Klemens kept staring out at the horizon, but she saw something in his eyes harden. He didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge that she had said anything. It was in that moment that she realized she was only supposed to be the weekend girlfriend-for-hire: look pretty, convince Klemens’ grandparents that she was real, and make Klemens look good. He picked her name at random after seeing her and then was stuck with Clara. He didn’t actually care about her. 

However, he didn’t tell her that she would be stuck in between a familial rift. 

“Klemens!” She said, forcefully, “I don’t care if you don’t want to open your deep dark secrets and personal details. I know I’m not here for that and not close enough to you for you to like and trust me, but if you want me to keep doing this,” She gestured around, “I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into. Specifically, what the  _ fuck _ is up with your relationship with you grandparents and how I, as your ‘perfect design-a-girlfriend,’ should be acting!”

She knew it was a little harsh, and it kept all her willpower to not break the stern face or say anything more when she saw the way Klemens’ face collapsed. He was clearly exhausted of the not-even 24 hours spent navigating his family, and now even Clara had turned on him. 

It broke Clara’s heart a bit to know she had hurt him. Regardless of how much she hated Klemens in that moment for using her, she still cared about him. It was that stupid bit of her that had a massive issue with drooling over videos of him prancing around a stage in little more than a couple of leather straps. And perhaps a part of her that had softened upon him knocking on her door a few days ago. 

“Okay,” Klemens said somewhat helplessly, bursting into Clara’s thoughts and shocking her. 

He paused for a moment, and then turned to look her in the eye. As he began speaking, she remained completely silent, out of fear that one comment would shut him down again. 

“My dad’s parents, these ones, you’ve probably gathered already, are rather conservative. Not in a super political sense or anything, just with customs and expectations. My dad, well, he works for the government. That’s a big point of pride for them.

“I lived in Brussels a bit when I was younger, when my dad was working abroad, and that’s when I started doing music. I returned and instead of continuing my academics, I went to the technical school and studied furniture construction. I guess it was around then when my grandparents, specifically Jón, started talking to me, and to my parents, about what I was going to do. I had no plans for university, and when I announced that I’d be spending some of my time as part of my band, Kjurr, they got really mad. My other work was in set design for small stuff and other art things. They didn’t approve of that either. 

“I think for them, it was like I was throwing away my life. I had tattoos and lived in my car and wasn’t making a bunch of money, and they hated all of it. They had worked so hard for my father, and their legacy was me. I wasn’t behaving the way they wanted me to, but they also couldn’t really do anything about it, since they’re only my grandparents. The worst was that they couldn’t understand that I was enjoying every bit of it.

“It just sort of got worse when my cousin and a friend of mine from Brussels started out new band.”

“Hatari,” Clara breathed out, almost unconsciously, as an attempt to show that he didn’t need to be vague about it. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she realized she had just breached the weird barrier. She didn’t want him to think she was just some crazy fan. She knew that her acknowledgement instantly removed the equality in the power balance. 

He nodded stoically, “Yes, they um… well, they don’t like what we do. And it’s only gotten worse over the years.

“The first breaking point was our turn to the more provocative outfits, the next was the Spillingardans music video, and then Eurovision and the flags pushed it over the limit.”

Clara has sort of seen this coming, but hearing out loud somehow made it worse. How could Klemens be living with all of this? The disapproval with almost everything in his life, she knew it must be tearing him down. Any lingering anger was gone at the point, but it was clear that Klemens was only becoming more and more frustrated with the situation. 

“Frankly, they want me to stop. Stop all of it. Which I won’t, but everything I do that makes it clear that I’m not in line with what they want just makes them worse. And, just so you know, I never thought you’d be here as a ‘perfect design-a-girlfriend,’ I actually liked you as a decent person who seemed genuine and kind in the hallways. But, if you really want to help, you’d mind your own business and be as unbiased as possible when talking to them. Maybe that’d get them to stop for a bit.”

If he had anything else to say, it would have been cut off by the sound of the ferry horn blaring over the harbor as they neared the Viðey Island docks. Klemens stared at Clara for a brief moment before walking to the other side of the boat, leaving her, mouth slightly parted, in shock and pain. The harsh sea wind whipping against her face made the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes feel colder than the iciest days in Reykjavik. 


	7. Morning on Viðey

Upon disembarking the ferry, the four walked along one of the paths, intending to reach the ruins. 

“You two are quiet,” Árný said. They were walking in pairs, Klemens and Clara side by side behind the older couple. While Jón and Árný were quiet, they held hands and pointed at things, smiling at each other. On the other hand, Clara was walking on one side of the path, and Klemens on the other, as much distance as possible between them. 

“I suppose there’s nothing much to talk about,” Klemens said tersely. 

“Of course there is,” Árný said, turning to look at them, “You two are always smiling and chatting with each other.”

“Mhmm,” Klemens mumbled, “You’ve only seen the two of us for a short while. We’re a lot quieter normally.”

Clara’s eyes widened and she glanced over at Klemens before returning her gaze to the ground, thankful that they were behind his grandparents and they couldn’t see her reactions.

“Knowing you, dear Klemens,” Árný said, “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Well, you know me, amma,” Klemens replied, “I’m pretty quiet.”

“Yes, but you open up to people you get close to, and I’ve seen you two interact this morning and yesterday. You talk more than other couples, the only thing you don’t do much of is physical affection,” Árný said, and the fake couple both blushed. 

Clara instantly scanned her memory of the past 24 hours and realized that Klemens grandmother was right. The only affectionate thing they did was discretely hold hands. 

Klemens was next to her, coming to the exact same realization. The lack of response only caused the older woman to straighten up smugly, knowing she had won that battle. 

They kept walking for a few minutes when a phone began ringing. It was Clara’s. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. 

“Sorry, I have to take this,” she told the rest of the group, “You all keep walking, I’ll catch up later.”

“You sure?” Klemens asked her, the softness from when he first asked her to do all this returning to his eyes for a brief moment. His grandparents were moving on, but he hung back to make sure it was alright. 

“Yeah, it’s just business stuff,” Clara said, shrugging, and Klemens just nodded, still unsure, and sped up a bit to catch up to Jón and Árný. 

Clara looked back at her phone and tapped the answer button. 

“Hey,” She said. 

“Hey Clara,” responded a female voice, “I was just checking in, haven’t seen you in a while.”

Clara laughed a bit, “Hekla, we saw each other two days ago, that’s not that long.”

“It is though,” Hekla said, “It’s about a day and a half too long. Anyways, what are you doing today? I was hoping we could go out for lunch. I can pick you up.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Clara smiled, “I’m out right now but I’ll be back at my apartment around 1:00.”

“Perfect! I’ll pick you up at 1:15. We can go over to that seafood place you love.”

“I just had fish last night.”

“Okay, what was the place you were talking about going to, then? Indian food or Indonesian? Or was is Iranian?”

“No, it’s Pakistani.”

“Why did I think it started with an I then?” Hekla said, sounding a bit perplexed. 

“Probably because you thought it was Indian,” Clara said. She was used to Hekla acting like this. 

“Probably. Can we go there?”

“Yeah, I’d love to try it out.”

“Sounds good. 1:15 then. What did you say you were doing? You’re never out of the house.”

“I am out of the house. Often.”

“No you’re not.”

“Am too. And it’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch.”

“Yeah, but where are you?”

“Viðey Island.”

“YOU’RE ON VIÐEY?!”

“Yeah. Like I said. Long story,” Clara laughed. 

“Okay, but why?! That’s not normal. People don’t just  _ go _ to Viðey. That’s like a  _ trip _ . You’ve got to pay for ferry tickets and then there’s nothing to do there other than walk around.”

“I’ll explain later. I should go. You’ll like the story.”

“Okay, but it better be good.”

“See you later.”

“You too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Clara clicked the red button to hang up and took a deep breath. 

Looking ahead there was quite a bit of space between her and Klemens, and even if they turned around to check on her, they probably wouldn’t have been able to tell if she was on the phone or had hung up. 

Hekla was her first friend that she made upon moving to Reykjavik. They met her first week in town at one of the coffee shops Clara often worked at. After a week of sitting next to each other to work for hours on end, they eventually introduced themselves. Hekla Magnúsdóttir was a translator; she spoke Icelandic, English, Danish, Swedish, Norweigian, and German, all with almost perfect fluency. When she wasn’t working, she was writing her first novel, which, in the year the two had known each other, was on its third draft (after being edited vigorously by Clara a few times, along with many other friends) and almost ready to send to some publishing companies. 

Clara relied on Hekla heavily for the first few months for basic Icelandic skills, and it evolved into a close friendship. They used to go out for lunch or dinner about 5 or 6 times a week, but now it was more like Clara going over to Hekla’s or vice versa for an afternoon and working quietly side by side. They told each other about most of their lives, and if Clara was being completely honest, she considered Hekla to be her sister. 

Even though they saw each other Thursday morning for breakfast together at Hekla’s place, Clara had not discussed anything to do with Klemens, and she was glad she would have someone to talk to about everything that had occurred. Even though her friend didn’t know much about Hatari, or Clara’s obsession with the band (or her crush), like most Icelanders, Hekla had at least heard about them. The idea of this iminent discussion was like Clara could finally breathe. She could spill the little secret to one person, and like that, the stress might release a bit. 

Clara realized that, while lost in thought, she had lost her group as well, and decided to continue moving. After about five minutes of quickened-paced walking, she finally made it next to Klemens, who only turned to her briefly to acknowledge her existence before looking ahead again.

“Clara, you’re back!” Árný exclaimed, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. I just had to catch up with a client,” Clara lied, knowing that it was much easier to explain long conversations that interrupted family events and dates as work, than as making plans with close friends. She hoped it maybe made her sound a little more professional as well, for Klemens sake. “I’ve got someone with an urgent thing, so I’m going to be heading off for lunch with a coworker when we get back to the apartment. We need to talk through some stuff.”

“A coworker?” Árný asked, “Didn’t you say you work from home? On your computer?”

Clara frantically made something up, “I do, yes, but I have a small network of designers, we all work together to help generate ideas and such. The creative process, you know, is much better with other people.”

Árný accepted that answer, surprisingly, and turned to continue whatever conversation she was having with Jón before Clara caught up with them. Turning to look back at Klemens, Clara realized he was staring back at her with a look of awe in his eyes. She replayed her past words in her head to figure out exactly what she might have said to warrant that look. It was that last sentence, probably. His look of awe was the one of finding a kindred creative spirit. 

“You get it, right?” Clara said, carefully.

Klemens nodded, “Collaboration, yeah. I, uh, I think you’d be a great addition to the ‘network’ of people we have working alongside Hatari.”

Clara stared back at him and blinked. She didn’t have any words. She wasn’t sure if anything was even running through her head. It was as if that sentence had just turned off her brain. She wasn’t even able to freak out. 

“I mean, if you want to, and all, and, you know, I haven’t seen any of your work yet,” Klemens backpedaled, “that is, not to say that it isn’t good or anything, I assume it’s good, it’s just—”

“I understand,” Clara said, her brain finally returning to consciousness. She wanted desperately to talk about something else. The offer and Klemens’ rambling was too much to handle. “So, how much longer are we out here for?”

“Um,” Klemens hardened a bit again, “Probably not much more than 10, 15 minutes? We’ve been wandering for over an hour now, and my grandparents just like walking the loop around the island. We want to catch the ferry, and you, you’ve got lunch, right?”

“Um, yeah, unless you needed me.”

“No, I think my grandparents are planning on visiting some of their friends this afternoon anyways.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah.”

Clara liked the return to their normal, slightly limited, but generally comfortable conversation. She was willing to forget the mornings events for the moment, and just admire the beauty of the island and the relaxing nature of the almost meaningless back-and-forth with Klemens.

Before they knew it they were in the car, back on the mainland, driving back to the apartment building, Clara looking out the window, unaware of the content smile on Klemens face as he drove.


	8. Lunch Out

“Bye,” Clara said, turning towards her door as the four walked down the hallway.

“Bye, Clara,” Klemens smiled at her. Verbally, it was all the two could manage, but there was something more tender in their expressions. 

Clara slipped inside her apartment and closed the door softly behind her. She checked her phone, noticing she had about 5 minutes before Hekla would arrive. Not as much time as she had planned, but enough to change and go to the bathroom. 

Shortly after, she heard a soft knock on the door. Upon opening it, she found Hekla in the hallway, smiling and bouncing a bit on her heels. 

“Hey,” Hekla said, “So how was your _date?_ ”

“It wasn’t a date,” Clara whispered, eyes wide, glancing unintentionally towards Klemens’ door. 

“Mhmm,” Hekla said while grabbing Clara’s hand and pulling her towards the stairs, “Come on, we’re going to your restaurant.”

As soon as they got into Hekla’s car, Clara was confronted with an interrogation.

“So, who were with? Why Viðey? Why were you even _on_ a date? I thought you were all ‘I’m single and happy that way?’ And was he a neighbor? Was that why you were all hush-hush about it?” Hekla was clearly excited, and Clara slightly nervous, both at the thought of responding to all of it, and because Hekla wasn’t really paying attention to the driving. “Ooooh, Clara, was it even a _he?”_

“Hekla, watch the road!” Clara said, “and, like I said, it wasn’t a date.”

“But you were going to tell me all about it!”

“Yeah, but it’s a long story and I want to do it while we’re sitting down.”

“We are sitting,” Hekla pouted.

“Like, in the restaurant. Not in the car.”

“Fine.”

Hekla turned on the radio, some Icelandic rap she loved. While Hekla was more into hip hop and club music, Clara was usually drawn in by soft acoustic music. They did, however, agree on a few things: Icelandic was a beautiful language when sung, rap when paired with somewhat calmer background music is amazing, rock is universal, especially with a bit of synth, and that you can always get down to metal music, you just have to be in the right mood. This did, however, mean Clara was hesitant to go work at Hekla’s house when she really needed to get something done, since they would inevitably be listening to something loud, and Hekla would frequently fall asleep if they listened to any of Clara’s favorite music for too long. But their similarities were enough to make them fantastic concert partners.

They pulled up at the restaurant, sat down, and placed their orders before Clara took the deep breath she needed before explaining the past couple of days. 

“So, Viðey? Why? Who? What?” Hekla asked.

“Okay, so it all started on Wednesday,” Clara said, “So Hatari? Right? Well, the one singer, Klemens, lives on my floor.”

“WHAT?” Hekla yelled.

“Shhhh,” Clara panicked, “You’re gonna draw attention.”

“Okay, but what. The. Fuck. Clara? You need to explain shit like this before. For how long?”

“Since I moved in? I don’t know? They were performing in Eurovision when I moved, and then when they got back to Iceland he came over to introduce himself. Super nice. He even apologized for not being there to introduce himself when I moved in.”

“He apologized? For performing in Eurovision? What kind of guy…”

“I know, right? Anyways, we see each other in the hallways or whatever but don’t really talk much. But on Wednesday he showed up at my place. And, this has be a secret. Like no one can know, Hekla. I don’t want anyone to know. Promise?”

Hekla nodded.

“So Wednesday, he came over and basically asked me to fake date him.”

“He what!? Fake _date_ him? What is this, some cheesy 90s rom-com? Who asks someone to fake date them?”

“I don’t know, but his grandparents are over for the weekend, and he’s been spinning this lie to them for months that he’s been dating his neighbor, and they wanted to meet me. So I was at his place for dinner last night, when the grandparents arrived. And then we all went out to Viðey this morning, I guess his grandparents like the place? Honestly, it was kind of boring.”

“You’re telling me that hanging out with a _celebrity_ and pretending to date them is boring? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten to kiss him or something. You’re living the dream of thousands of Hatari fans, and you’re all ‘oh this is boring.’”

“We haven’t kissed, no. And, I don’t know, it’s exhausting. The whole meet the parents thing, but you’re lying about it all, and they’re a couple of old judgy people who don’t really approve of their own grandson. It’s just a lot of drama.”

“Yikes, that, uh, yeah.” Hekla leaned back in her chair, “That’s not really dreamy at all... Why are you doing it?”

“Festival tickets.” Clara mumbled.

“Tickets? He’s paying you in tickets?”

“Yeah. Iceland Airwaves.” Clara was bright red now, suddenly having realized how stupid the whole thing was. She had put herself through an emotional nightmare and what was she getting out of all of it? Tickets. 

And the fantasy of a life she wished she could have, but that was a thought she wanted to push aside for as long as possible. 

“You’re so stupid sometimes, you know that?” Hekla said.

“Yeah,” Clara said.

“That’s why I love you.”

Clara let out a laugh that was more like a puff of air with a smile than an actual laugh, but the smile stayed on her face afterwards, so it was at least effective.

“So…” Hekla had a mischievous smile, “Klemens? I mean, I can’t say I know much about the band, but he’s, uh, he’s cute.”

“You say that with _so much_ enthusiasm.”

“No, I mean, I was gonna say he was hot, but then, I don’t know—I guess ‘hot’ is not the word I’d use to describe him.”

“And what word would you use?”

“Cute. That’s what I already used.”

“Mhmm,” Clara was really trying to keep it together as Hekla had turned from a troublemaker to a flushed mess.

“I, just, I don’t know, he’s not, convennnnntionally… attraaaaactive?”

“What are you trying to say, Hekla?”

“He’s cute, but in the kind of, soft and adorable way? Not the boyfriend... way.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, have you?”

“No,” Hekla protested, “I just, you’re dating him, right?”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, but, you know? Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“You know…”

“Do I… find him attractive?” Clara was doing her best not to become flustered and keep her calm, stoically responding to the comical, roundabout questioning she was receiving.

“Yeah.”

“In the ‘soft and adorable way?’”

“In the any-kind-of-way.”

“Um, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say he’s _not_ cute in the boyfriend kind of way? I wouldn’t call him soft and adorable, more artistic and mature? But, you know, I’m single, and I don’t really want to be with anyone right now.”

“So you like him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did. You said he was all ‘artistic and mature’ which for you, is a profession of love, and face it, Clara, you have a crush,” Hekla’s mischievous smile was back and she was leaning back in her chair, satisfied. 

“Do not!”

“You do, I can see it all over your face. You like the guy, and you’re only doing it for the tickets because you also get to spend time with a _celebrity_. That you _like_. A lot.”

“That’s not… that makes me sound so awful,” Clara said.

“So— you didn’t deny it.”

“Fine,” Clara threw up her hands, “I have a crush on him. He’s cute. And, he’s nice, he likes art, we have okay conversations? He’s interesting, and, I don’t know? I don’t really have a chance, but it’s nice pretending. Stressful. But nice.”

“You gotta be careful, Clara.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. It’s not going anywhere. We stop when his grandparents leave Monday evening, and then we go back to seeing each other in the hallways.”

“But it won’t be the same, will it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Cause you know each other now?”

“Yeah, but, he’s, you know, a singer. He’s not gonna be interested in me after.”

“He was interested enough to use you as his fake girlfriend. Could’ve been anyone.”

“I was just the first name that came up. Nothing special.”

“First name that came up? That sounds like he was thinking about you.”

“He—can we drop it? You already know I like him. And that it’s not gonna happen. Everything else is irrelevant.”

“Okay, okay.” Hekla said, “But this isn’t the end of the conversation. I’m coming over to your house next week and we’re gonna debrief.”

“Oh joy, I’m looking forward to that,” Clara said, “Promise me it’s gonna be short, alright?”

“No promises.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d love to, hon, but I don’t think I’m your type,” Hekla smirked. Clara couldn’t help but smile.


	9. Yet another Dinner

Clara was back at her house, sitting on the sofa. The television was turned on, the volume low, but still noticeable, and the news was on. She had the speakers playing some electronic music, and a book was sitting in her lap. She wasn’t actually reading it, she had her phone in her hand and she was scrolling through Pinterest, clicking on anything that looked moderately note-worthy for her work. She wouldn’t exactly say she was very focused though. All the stimuli was to keep her from thinking too much. 

It was at 17:32 when she received the text.

**Dinner at 18:30. Maybe come over a bit earlier? Need to talk**

Reading that might have been a bad decision, because she was instantly drawn into a train of thought that involved how stupid she was for agreeing to do all of this for just concert tickets. She was putting herself through more pain than positivity this weekend. But she felt a certain responsibility at this point. Klemens clearly needed someone to help him through his Grandparents’ visit. Plus Jón and Árný were leaving in two days, so it would soon be over.

**Okay. See you soon.**

She reached over to the remote to turn up the volume. The Icelandic announcer’s voice filled the room, and for a brief moment she felt bad for any neighbors (including Klemens), who might have been annoyed by the ruckus, but that feeling quickly disappeared. Her frustration took precedence, and she tried to, somewhat successfully, ignore any thoughts of the night for the following half hour, at which point she had to get up and get dressed. 

She went into her room, grabbed a pair of green cargo pants and a plain black blouse, and went to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she slipped on the clothes, put on a bit of makeup, and walked out back to the living room. She was grabbing her shoes, a pair of black heels, which she knew was complete overkill for going over to Klemens’ apartment, when she spotted the row of bottles she had on her kitchen counter. 

She walked over, grabbed a glass, and poured herself some whiskey. She checked the time, 18:12. She figured she should be over around 18:15, so she took a few sips from the glass, downed the rest of it, put it in the sink, and left her apartment. She was standing in front of Klemens’ door at 18:14, already wishing the alcohol would kick in.

She knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, it swung open. Klemens was standing in front of her, a little out of breath, as if he had run to get the door.

Clara suddenly didn’t regret the heels. He was wearing a pair of grey pants with a white grid pattern and a deep red turtleneck, and she noticed a pair of really nice Chelsea boots.

“Well, at least I’m not the only one dressed up,” Klemens looked into her eyes and smiled, “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Clara said, slipping by him. Something had switched on inside her and suddenly she was a 16-year-old girl, going on her first date, all the nerves and excitement. It felt a little too real.

“So, um, why don’t you sit down,” Klemens said, closing the door and gesturing to the couch, still practically the only thing in the room. 

Clara walked over to sit. She could smell the food Klemens was cooking, and it smelled amazing. It occurred to her that he was actually an amazing chef. She wouldn’t have imagined that just a week ago. 

“You said you wanted to talk about something?” Clara said, looking up at Klemens, who had just sat down on a chair next to the couch. He was sitting on the edge, looking a bit paler than usual.

“Yeah, I, uh, I—I first wanted to apologize for this morning. I’m tired, and I know that’s no excuse, but you know a bit about my grandparents now, and honestly, it can be exhausting trying to keep up a conversation without ticking them off. But, either way, it doesn’t make what I did any better. I was rude, and you really don’t deserve that—you don’t deserve to be dealing with any of this.”

“No. I was the one who acted out of line. You were right, I shouldn’t have invaded so much.”

“Clara, look at me,” Klemens said, somewhat forcefully, “You were maybe a bit aggressive, but you didn’t say anything out of line. I kept you in the dark about all of this, and honestly, it only makes sense that you’d feel like I was using you.”

“I—,” Clara started, before realizing that there was nothing left to argue. “Thank you. I wish I could say I get it, all of this weekend, but I don’t. And that’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Klemens said, “and I guess the second thing I wanted to talk about is a complete change of subject, but before my grandparents left for their lunch date with their friends, they um, they mentioned how weird it was that we were so distant.”

“Distant?” Clara was trying to understand both what this meant, and what Klemens was implying.

“Yeah. Something about how we don’t touch each other—not like that! Just, we don’t hold hands and stuff, and then,” Klemens’ face began to turn bright red, “they asked me why we didn’t kiss.”

Clara was glad she was sitting and didn’t have anything in her hands. If she did, whatever it was would be on the floor right then. She opened her mouth to say something, but realized she had nothing to say. The two stared at each other silently. It was only 45 seconds, but it felt like 5 minutes had passed by the time either of them spoke up.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but…” he trailed off. 

“No, I understand.”

“It’s just, for my grandparents to believe…”

“Yeah. For your grandparents. Of course.”

“Exactly. For them.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not. It’s not like this is real.”

“Yep. Just, for your grandparents…”

“Mhmm.”

There was a knock on the door. Clara looked up.

“I should get that, probably my grandparents.”

“Yeah,” Clara said, standing up along with Klemens. She watched him walk over to the door, and open it to Jón and Árný.

“Klemens!” Árný said, walking right past him to take off her coat, “We had a wonderful time with Guðrún and Ragnar, they’re such good cooks.”

“Glad to hear, Amma,” Klemens said, and then switched to Icelandic. The three spoke for a few minutes, then Klemens returned to English, “I should probably get back to cooking. Clara, do you mind helping?”

“Yeah,” Clara said, exhaling a little more than she intended.

As she walked into the kitchen, Jón and Árný disappeared into the guest room. She looked around and noticed that Klemens was cooking spaghetti and meatballs, with some sort of bread in the oven and a half finished salad on the counter. It was simple, but smelled amazing. 

“Do you want to finish the salad? I already set the table, so that’s probably the easiest thing to do,” Klemens said.

“Yeah,” She looked over at him and smiled. He was already in the midst of dealing with the noodles, watching the meatballs on the stove, and checking on the bread. The salad bowl already had the lettuce, spinach, and tomatoes, and given the ingredients left out, it seemed all that was left was to add the mozzarella, basil, cucumbers, and chickpeas. And then add dressing. 

She figured one of the best things she was getting out of this was probably the filling, healthy meals every day. It wasn’t that she couldn’t cook, or that she wasn’t necessarily unhealthy, but living alone meant she didn’t feel the need to make a whole dinner every night, so she usually ended up ordering takeout or making a sandwich. There was something very nice about eating at Klemens place.

She began cutting up the cucumbers and listening to the soft music that had begun playing. It sounded a bit like Iron & Wine, but she wasn’t entirely sure. A soft humming joined in, and she looked up to see Klemens, smiling and swaying side to side, clearly not aware she was watching. 


	10. Chapter 10

The quiet moment was interrupted by the sound of the guest bedroom door opening, and Árný and Jón coming out to the living space. They sat down at the table, and began talking with Klemens in more Icelandic. Clara found it really easy to tune out, but couldn’t help but notice the slightly perturbed look on Klemens face. She took as many chances as she could to make eye contact and smile at him. He always smiled back. 

It was definitely awkward to be navigating a kitchen when everyone else was speaking a language she hardly understood (Hekla was trying to teach it to her, but after 7 months, she had made very little progress). She finished the salad, and walked over to the sink to scrape off some of the food scraps and wash the cutting board, and on the way back to the salad, she ran right into Klemens. She could feel herself losing balance on her high heels.

Klemens hands were suddenly at her waist, stabilizing her. She looked up and Klemens’ face was inches away from hers. The heat from his arms flooded her body, and she was aware of how close they were. With the shoes, Clara was quite a few centimeters taller than him, but they were almost eye to eye. She wasn’t sure if it was just pure confidence or the whiskey finally kicking in, but she knew that it was the moment they needed. His grandparents were watching so it didn’t have to be too intimate, but she closed her eyes and leaned in, touching her lips to his. It lasted for not more than a couple seconds, and when she pulled back, she smiled and walked around him, back to the salad.

She pulled down some lemon juice and olive oil, both of which were sitting on an open shelf near where she was working. It was entirely quiet except for the music. She glanced over her shoulder. Jón and Árný were smiling at each other, and Klemens was standing where she left him. She couldn’t see the look on his face, but could imagine he was probably surprised. 

“Klemens,” she said softly. He jumped a bit and turned around, eyes wide, “the meatballs are gonna burn.”

She smirked as he blinked, nodded, and went back to cooking. Clara liked this, feeling like she had control over everything. It was a nice change from being emotionally whipped by his every harsh word.

The salad was finished, and she brought it to the table, where Jón and Árný were now talking to one another in Icelandic. She could have sworn she heard the words, ‘Klemens,’ ‘love’ and ‘house’ but she wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Do you want me to help with anything else?” She asked Klemens.

“No,” he said, faintly, “I’m almost done here.”

“Okay.” Clara sat down and watched Klemens finish up the meal. He put all the spaghetti into a large bowl, and dished out the meatballs, setting it all on the table. Then he sliced the bread, brought the cutting board to the table, and sat down.

“It looks… good.” Árný said. Clara felt something inside of her start to yell. She wanted to get up from the table and slap the woman. Árný was so understanding, and then when it came to her grandson, she was prickly and disapproving. It wasn’t fair to Klemens.

“It looks great, thank you,” Jón said, smiling and beginning to serve up a plate. 

Clara looked over at Klemens and smiled. The dinner went on with more conversation in Icelandic than Clara could keep up with. Only in brief moments would someone ask her a question in English, she would respond, and they would switch back. Normally when this happened, it felt isolating, but Clara found herself enjoying just sitting next to Klemens, eating good food, and listening to the banter. It didn’t seem too tense, so she could only assume it was going well.

“Clara,” Jón said, breaking her out of her thoughts. She glanced down at her watch realizing she had been zoning out for the better part of an hour.

“Yeah?” She said.

“Árný and I were talking today, it’s rather unusual that you two live in the same building, so close, but haven’t moved in together yet.”

Clara’s eyes widened, “Um, well… We’ve only been together for a few months now. It’s just a bit too early, I think.”

“Are you not planning your relationship long-term?”

“Afi!” Klemens erupted, “We… we are. But, right now, things are working out perfectly fine. We spend lots of time together, and it’s sort of like living together. You know, she’s just down the hallway.”

“But, wouldn’t it make it so much easier? Rent and everything? And it’s not a big move, just a few meters over,” Jón asked.

“I don’t know about that. Moving in is a big step, and right now, we both have our own spaces. I mean, my apartment is also my office, so there’s some additional logistics to work out too,” said Clara.

“Yeah,” said Klemens, “and it’s not that we haven’t thought about it at all, it’s just that it’s not the right time.”

“It’s just, it doesn’t really make sense, does it?” Árný said, “Logic would say, move in together.”

“All due respect, but, for us, it doesn’t really make sense right now,” Clara said. Klemens hand was suddenly on her leg, a soft warning touch, but she continued, “We spend lots of time together. We eat at each other’s place all the time, I sometimes work over here, he sometimes comes over to my place for the afternoon. We, you know, spend the night sometimes. It’s, right now, the perfect balance. We’ve figured out what makes sense to us, and we’re doing that.”

Árný responded with a dismissive huff and the conversation was over. Clara stood up.

“And, it’s, um, probably best for me to head back to my apartment right now. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, Klemens, you be a gentleman and walk her over, right?” Árný said. The look in her eyes was not sweet, but almost malicious, “We can do the cleanup.”

“Yes, Amma,” Klemens said, following Clara to the door. 

“See you two tomorrow,” Clara smiled at Klemens grandparents.

“Yes, good night, Clara.” Jón said.

The younger couple walked out the door together, and across the hallway to Clara’s. She opened the door but didn’t go in.

“I’m sor—” they both started. 

Clara laughed, “You first.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this. I thought they’d be better.”

“No, I’m—I’m really sorry,” Clara said, looking into his eyes, “Both for taking over that conversation and being a little abrupt, and that you have to deal with them.”

“They’re family,” Klemens shrugged.

“Family doesn’t do that,” Clara said, “Family cares about you. They’re just your biological relatives, nothing more.”

“They used to,” Klemens said, “They used to care about me. And then it just stopped.”

Clara had to take a moment before doing anything else, Klemens had just shared something personal without her asking or prying. 

“So, any plans for tomorrow?” She asked.

“Um, yeah, about that…”

“Do you want to come in for a drink? And to explain tomorrow?” Clara said, regretting her words instantly. She was invading. 

“Okay.”  _ Okay? _ That was unexpected, but good. She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter her apartment. She followed, closing the door behind her and taking off her shoes. She walked over to the kitchen, and asked Klemens what he wanted.

“What do you have?”

“Almost everything,” Clara cringed at the truth; it made her sound a bit like an alcoholic. She wasn’t, but, to be fair, she did like a drink with dinner and a good weekend of clubbing. 

“Wine?”

“Red or white?”

“White,” Klemens said. Not exactly what she expected from him. She was admittedly a bit disappointed because wine meant she should probably have a glass too and she was feeling like another glass of whiskey or something even stronger. But she grabbed a bottle from her small wine rack, opened it, and took down a pair of glasses. 

After pouring, she walked over to Klemens, handed him one, and they moved to the couch. 

Clara curled up a bit, legs tucked underneath her on the loveseat, and Klemens sat rather formally on the sofa. 

“So,” Clara began, “Plans for tomorrow? I’m free all day, but, Monday I’ve really got to get back to work.”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Um,” Klemens took a deep breath, “So, my cousin, Matthías, he’s not related to Jón or Árný, but they like seeing him, cause he’s technically family. And our band, we usually rehearse two or three times a week, then Sundays we go over to someone’s house to have lunch together with everyone’s families and do some brainstorming and stuff. I mentioned it to my grandparents, and they wanted to come along to meet the others and see Matthi.”

“Oh okay,” Clara said, sensing where this was going.

“So there might be breakfast, but I doubt it, nothing until at least 10:00 so no need to be here early or anything. And then at about 1:30, when we’ll go over to Einar, he’s the other—”

“I know.” Clara was pretty much otherwise frozen.

“Right. 1:30 we’ll go over, it’ll probably be a few hours. Lunch, conversation, hopefully not too much bullshit from my grandparents since there'll be a lot of people.”

Clara was unsure what to think. She took a sip, or rather a large swig, from her wine glass and nodded. 

“Okay,” She was still processing that in less than 24 hours, she would be over at  _ Einar Stefánsson’s _ house and be meeting the rest of Hatari. She could imagine Hekla telling her  _ Hun, you’re in way over your head. Back out before you fall too hard _ , but she knew that the only thing that’d keep her from going was if Klemens told her not to go. At this point, she had to just keep riding the roller coaster she had chosen to ride.


	11. Chapter 11

Clara woke up at 9:46, and after lying there for five minutes, she remembered that there was still the possibility of breakfast at 10:00. She checked her phone frantically to find no notifications. That was good. She stayed up a little later than she had intended the night before: after Klemens left she put on some Netflix and didn’t realize how many episodes she had watched until it was 1:30 am.

She decided that regardless of a breakfast date she should get up. After getting ready and dressed, she wandered over to the kitchen, made coffee, and crashed on the sofa. She pulled out her laptop and began to read some emails. She had a working list of all the projects she was working on and the ones she had yet to start, and it needed some updating.

After about 20 minutes of reading, typing, and stressing over the amount of work that she would likely have the next week, her phone began to ring.

“Clara?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Klemens,” His voice was deep and raspy, and Clara, curled up on her couch, involuntarily closed her eyes and leaned her head back.

“Hey. Morning.”

“Morning.”

“What’s up?”

“My grandparents went out to breakfast this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they wanted to meet up with someone? I don’t know. I was half asleep when they left.”

“You sound half asleep right now,” Clara said softly. This was comfortable, it felt like they were old friends.

“Maybe I am.”

“So 1:30?” Clara smiled into the phone.

“Yeah. You can sleep in, you know, just, whatever. I don’t really care. I mean, I do care, but I’m not trying to control you, and like—”

“It’s fine,” Clara interrupted, “I know what you meant.”

“Right, sorry,” Klemens paused a bit, and Clara sat, listening to his deep breathing, “Still a bit tired.”

“Hey, um, maybe this isn’t a good idea, but, do you want to come over for breakfast? Brunch? Whatever?”

“Uh…” his exhale was shaky.

“Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No,” Klemens said, quickly, “I would love that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” Clara opened her eyes and stood up, looking around her apartment, “You can come over whenever.”

“Okay, I need to get up, and get dressed and, you know…”

“Right,” Clara tried very hard not to picture Klemens, half-awake, getting out of bed, probably wearing just boxers, or maybe briefs? She wasn’t sure what he would wear. She was definitely sure she shouldn’t be pondering it.

“So, see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Clara shook herself out of the daydream, “See you soon.”

She hung up, and set her phone down on the coffee table. She had never imagined that she’d have the guts to ask Klemens out, even if it was just for brunch before their planned fake date, but him saying yes? That was even further beyond imagination. This wasn’t just a once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing, this was an impossible situation, an impossible situation that just became very possible.

Looking around, Clara realized she was lucky that the apartment was fairly clean, probably because she had spent so little time in it lately, and significantly more time out and about with Klemens. The only other issue was food. She opened the fridge to survey her options. Eggs? Probably a good idea. Orange juice? Definitely. Strawberries and blueberries? She was already planning on eating them today, so yes. She then remembered she had gotten a waffle maker a couple months ago and hadn’t used it much, so after pulling out all the ingredients, she started to mix up the batter.

She had turned on some soft music in the background, and was dancing around the kitchen, pulling out items and setting the table. She had bowls of berries, a pot of coffee, and some juice set out, bread in the toaster, and the first waffle on the iron when Klemens, presumably, knocked on her door.

She glanced down before realizing that she was ‘dressed,’ but that was just a pair of slim fitting sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt, barely passing as decent, especially with no bra on underneath.

“Fuck it,” she muttered before going to open the door. There wasn’t really any time to grab a jacket, so she just had to go with it.

She swung the door open, and there was Klemens, wearing an equally casual outfit, but somehow looking a lot more dressed and put together. Funnily enough, his face captured an entirely different emotion: one of pure exhaustion and drowsiness.

“Thanks for having me over,” He said, his voice still as groggy as it was on the phone.

“Of course,” She said, stepping aside so he could come in.

As Klemens was getting settled at the table, Clara walked over to the kitchen to finish cooking.

“I’m making waffles, and there’s fruit on the table, syrup, and I’ve got toast, which I usually have with eggs, but if you just want waffles, I mean, it’s a lot to begin with.”

“No, that’s great. Eggs are good.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Fried.”

“Okay,” She pulled off the first waffle and poured the batter for the next. She also liked them fried, so that meant the lowest chance of making a fool of herself for not knowing how to cook eggs any other way.

“Thanks,” Klemens said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Clara looked over, watching him move slowly before leaning back, seemingly sinking into the chair.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Um…”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like that.” Clara backpedaled, “You just seem a bit... exhausted.”

“Yeah.” Klemens took a deep breath, “Jón wanted to stay up talking about construction for a long time. It was way too much talking and not enough sleeping.”

“Construction?” Clara was a bit surprised.

“Yeah, I—Jón likes building stuff, and yeah. I don’t really know.”

Clara found herself smiling at how tired Klemens was, and guiltily turned around to continue cooking.

“Do you still do construction stuff? I mean, you studied joinery, right?” She asked.

“Not as much as I wish I could, or want to. I’m kind of busy now.”

“Well, does it at least help you connect with your grandfather?”

Klemens snorted, “No! Not one bit. He thinks joinery is all child’s work, only making and designing chairs and tables. Construction to him is all architects and buildings.”

“Oh. Well,” Clara trailed off, she kind of messed that one up. She took the second waffle off the iron, and added it to a plate. She had the eggs and toast all plated, and turned to carry it all over to the table, “Want a waffle?”

“Yes,” Klemens smiled widely, as she sat down. He took the top waffle off and transferred it to his plate. They sat in silence as they put berries and syrup on it, and began eating. Clara was happy to start her second cup of coffee for the morning, and she could feel herself reaching the 100% awake mark.

“So um,” Klemens started, “today.”

“Yeah?” Clara raised an eyebrow.

“Well, my grandparents are gonna want to do dinner again with you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to have you over again.”

It felt like a slap in the face. And clearly she looked more hurt than she thought she was letting on.

“I don’t mean anything about you,” Klemens was almost panicking, seemingly trying to make Clara feel better, and explain things better, “I just think you don’t deserve it, all the mediating, and—”

“Klemens, no.”

“What?”

“ _You’re_ the one who doesn’t deserve it. It’s completely unfair, to have family who is so awful, who makes everything so much harder than necessary,” Clara had seen first hand what it did to Klemens, mostly the short term effect, but she was starting to understand the long-term hurt he was suffering from, “And if me being there makes it a little easier on you, than, I guess that’s what I’m here for.”

“But I didn’t ask for more than you to be my fake—”

“It’s not about that,” Clara stopped him before he began talking about one of the taboo topics. “That’s what I’m here for. As a friend.”

Klemens froze.

“I mean,” Clara started again, hoping this wouldn’t make things worse, “I feel like the past couple days, we’re not strangers anymore. And, I mean, I kind of care about you not getting hurt, so… did I say something wrong?”

“No!” Klemens sprung back into motion, “I just thought that after all this, you’d hate me or something.”

“Would I invite you over for brunch if I hated you?”

“I guess not,” and he broke into a small smile.


End file.
